Inside Out
by K Hanna Korossy
Summary: He knew what his brother needed.


**Inside Out**  
K Hanna Korossy

"So what brings you here tonight?" Dean asked with a suggestive grin.

Her return smile was just the right amount coy. "Bored and looking for a good time. You?"

"Oh…" The opening of the bar door drew his attention for a moment, and he almost rolled his eyes as his brother stepped in. Sam had promised to be there an hour earlier; so much for a wingman. Dean absently nodded greeting as he turned his attention back to the luscious Lola. "The same. Bein' a race car driver gets…" His gaze had wandered back to his brother and stuck there. "Uh…" Sam looked… Dean's smile slipped off. Something was wrong. "Sorry, sweetheart, but there's an emergency. Gotta go." He slid out of the booth, just hearing her baffled voice behind him.

"A racing emergency?"

Dean detoured on the way, tossing a couple of bills on the bar to cover the bottle he snaked. He met Sam at the door, the kid still standing there round-shouldered, his hands stuffed into his pockets. It was his face, though, that set off every Big Brother warning system Dean had. He didn't say a word, just took Sam's arm and led him out of the noisy bar.

Dean didn't stop until they were next to the Impala. He uncorked the bottle and shoved it at Sam, watching as his brother took a shaky breath and then a long drag. The fact Sam was gulping and not arguing tweaked Dean's worry even higher. He waited until Sam handed back the bottle and took a belt himself before raising an eyebrow.

"What?" he asked.

Sam shook his head. More disbelief than rejection.

Dean's frown deepened. "Why do you smell like grave?"

Sam grimaced. "Fresh body, not grave."

Dean shrugged with a bob of the head. "Okay, why do you smell like corpse?"

Sam took a breath, melting back against the Impala's side. "I was walking down here and, uh, I saw this house with a bunch of newspapers and a full mailbox. Suspicious, you know?"

Dean did. People on vacation stopped their papers and mail, or they forgot one but not both. Piled-up mail and newspapers sometimes meant worse fates. Their dad had taught them to look for houses like that, either to squat in or to check for their kind of bad news, sometimes both. Dean had probably sped by the place without noticing it on his drive down, but Sam had walked. And Dean was starting to have a strong suspicion why Sam stunk and looked now as he did. "Did you…?"

Sam nodded. "Just looked in the windows first, but I could smell it even outside, and then I saw her lying there…" He swallowed, eyes darting down.

Dean made a face. "Old lady with a coronary?" he said, faking hope.

A shake of the head. "Girl maybe my age. Looks natural, but…kinda hard to tell, you know? And she, uh…" He breathed out a bitter kind of half-laugh, Sam's way of fighting tears. "She had a baby. Found it in the crib. Must've been there days…" He sucked in air as he cleared his throat, drew his shoulders back. "Neighbor said she was new in town. Probably didn't have anybody to notice she was missing."

Except for Sam, and a pile of newspapers.

"Cops didn't keep me long, but, uh…I knew you were…"

Dean did roll his eyes now; if Sam was apologizing for being late to meet Dean because of _this, _Dean would kick his ass into next week. But Sam fell silent, still and small against the car.

Dean debated handing him the bottle again, but that wasn't what Sam needed. The next morning he'd be just as depressed _and _hungover. Dean capped it instead and tossed it onto the padded seat, glancing back at the rowdy bar and then considering Sam for a moment.

"Let's go, Sammy."

Sam didn't ask, just obediently climbed in the car when Dean held the door for him, putting a hand on his head cop-style to keep the distracted giant from braining himself on the way in.

Dean made sure to drive the opposite way from the motel; there would be police and an ambulance and probably a coroner's wagon at the house for a while, and Sam didn't need to see that. Instead, he cruised until the houses thinned out, then disappeared altogether. He followed a sign he'd seen on the way into town, until the Impala pulled up to the edge of a scenic overlook. Below them, the town spread out in a Norman Rockwell scene of twinkling lights and movement and life. There was a soft chirp from the first crickets of summer and a breeze. Dean breathed it in as he climbed out of the car and hitched himself on the warm hood. After a few seconds, he could hear Sam's door squeak as his brother slowly joined him.

They sat for a long time in the quiet. "'Least they're gonna have a proper burial now. No vengeful spirit or unfinished business on this one," Dean finally offered.

Another pause, then Sam nodded.

Dean glanced over at him. "Sometimes it's the best we can do, Sammy. But it's not nothing, dude."

It was some time later that Sam finally spoke, eyes still on the scenery. "Yeah. Thanks."

They didn't go back to the room until nearly dawn, but while he remained subdued a while, Sam was neither depressed nor hungover.

Dean counted it a win.

00000

Sam was in the middle of reading about the buru buru's history when he sensed eyes on him. He looked up from the restaurant booth he'd commandeered for them, waving to his brother, who stood in the door.

And frowned as he took a second look at Dean. Then Sam was shoving his laptop and notebooks into his satchel and hurrying to the entrance.

"Hey, what's—?"

"You order yet?" Dean asked tightly, eyes everywhere but on Sam. "Tell me this isn't one of your rabbit food places, dude."

"No," Sam slowly answered. He straightened up. "Actually, it's got a decent bar. C'mon."

He led the way deeper into the restaurant, past the table where he'd planned to have a good steak dinner with Dean, to the bar in the back that Dean seemed to need more. A TV at one end was tuned to a football game and there was a raucous crowd cheering it on, but that was fine. Dean followed him without protest, sinking down on a stool. His usual charismatic charm turned off, Dean blended into the throng, and no one gave them a second look. Sam immediately saw his brother's shoulders come down a little from around his ears.

He ordered two whiskeys and shoved one under his sibling's nose. Dean picked it up and tossed it down. Sam gave him the other one then, and watched as it also disappeared. He held up two fingers for the bartender before he finally asked, "Y'all right?"

Dean had just gone to get some stuff for the car while Sam went ahead to the restaurant where they'd agreed to regroup for dinner. His brother had not been gone more than an hour, and with the latest hunt successfully behind them, Sam hadn't expected any trouble.

Dean nodded in silence and drained the third whiskey.

Sam's mouth twisted; of course Dean was _all right; _he was _all right_ when he was torn up and leaking half his blood into the dirt. "The car all right?" Sam carefully prodded.

Dean winced. "Yeah," he said, oddly cutting. "She's fine. Barely got a scratch."

Feeling out his brother's emotions was like putting together a puzzle in which half the pieces were invisible. "Something else got more of a scratch?" Sam hazarded.

The wince became a scowl. "It was a friggin' dog, okay? It ran out into the road and I tried to stop but there wasn't enough time." Angrily, Dean tossed back the fourth shot.

Sam held up two fingers without looking at the barkeep and leaned in a little, keeping the conversation between them. "Is it…?" He was afraid to ask.

"It, uh…" Dean's eyes were shiny. "It didn't make it to the vet."

Sam flinched. "Sorry."

"Why? Wasn't my dog." As soon as another whiskey appeared, Dean disposed of it, too.

"Yeah," Sam said with a sad smile. "Was it somebody's?"

"No collar or tags, but," Dean shrugged, "who knows? Not like you need that crap to love something."

Sam drank the last whiskey, grimacing at the burn. "Did it look, you know, cared for?"

There was a beat, Dean studying the wood grain of the bar. "No," he finally said. "Looked like a scrawny street mutt."

Sam nodded. "Probably lived a hard life. You showed it more kindness than most people would have."

Dean bristled. "By hitting it?"

"By trying to take care of it. I know you, Dean—you probably petted and talked to that dog while it was dying, gave it a little love before it went. That means more than anything when you're scared and in pain."

Dean's brow drew together as he gave Sam a sideways look. Sam returned it calmly, smiling just a little in acknowledgment of what they both knew he was saying.

A minute passed in silence. Then Dean did the next round of ordering, easing back to beer.

When they left the bar much later, Dean held out his keys. As Sam took them, Dean met his gaze. And gave him a quick smile that was more sincere than any he'd tendered that night.

Sam grinned back and didn't say a word.

The next morning, Dean picked up fancy coffee and fruit and pastries for breakfast. They left town soon after, Dean singing along to Zeppelin as he sped the Impala down the road.

Sam felt too content to complain.

**The End**


End file.
